At some point during the morning, the medical personnel took Psyche off the breathing mask, checked the grafts on her worst burns, and redressed her wounds. She seems to be coming along well — now there's just a slender tube running beneath her nose, a pair of short prongs poking into her nostrils to offer a little extra O2 when needed. She's been sleeping soundly throughout, the sleep of the righteously drugged. Now, however, those drugs must be wearing off a bit. She frowns and shifts uncomfortably, pawing at the oxygen tube. "The frak…" she mumbles, not quite opening her eyes yet. Her voice has the creak of disuse and is hoarse, but it's far from the ravaged whisper the was limited to the previous eve.

"Hey, Drips," Devlin greets Wade with a nod, "She's okay. Off the oxygen mask, they said it looks like the burns are healing well, no signs of infection or anything. Probably waking up sometime in the next couple— oh hey," he sits up quickly as Psyche shifts and mumbles, freeing his hands to reach for hers, "Hey, hey, Psy," he says softly, "You're ok. Oxygen tube, don't mess with it."

Wade nods at Decoy's words and offers "Well, she's looking better" says the man, remembering how she looked like when she was pulled out of that Viper. Now, he smiles a little and adds "There you are." He remains next to her bed while Decoy explains the Oxygen Tube. "You gave us quite a scare back there" informs Wade after this, clearing his throat a little after hearing Bubbles' voice. "You are in the Recovery Room right now"

"It's poking me," Psyche whines, grumbling as Devlin coaxes her hands away. "It feels like I've got boogers." She looks sulky — and a bit blanched, tight around the eyes. It's apparent that with consciousness comes pain. She manages a faint smile for Wade, the fingers of her good hand curling around Devlin's automatically. "Hey, Drips. Thanks. I thought for a second I was in the Delegate's Suite at the Caprica City Grand," she says with dry, hoarse mirth. "How's everyone else?"

Devlin laughs a little at that whine, and captures her hand in his, replying, "It's helping you breath, you'll get used to it. Better than the mask, right?" He gives her good hand a squeeze and then smiles at her joke, replying, "I bet that's one of those epic penthouse suites, where you've got personal butlers to bring you anything you could ever ask for, huh? Man, I wish." He strokes her fingers idly and then nods as Wade gets called off, offering, "They're good. Poppy's got some burns but nothing serious. Splash's got a bit of a concussion, too. Bannik said to say hi, and tell you you're in his prayers. He's taking good care of your viper."

"Man, we got off light," Psyche whispers after a few moments of considering the casualties. "Considering." She strokes Devlin's fingers with her thumb, closing her eyes and taking a slow, steadying breath. "Holy shit, I am in a lot of pain," she confesses with a hoarse chuckle. "Wow." She smiles fiercely, part grimace. "I need to get off drugs. I can't fly while I'm hopped up on pain meds." Obviously. Her fingers tighten on his. "I have a crazy question — it might just be the drugs, but I could swear I heard someone talking about…" She opens her eyes and focuses on him. "Were you in the brig?"

"Yeah," Devlin agrees, and then winces at her words, squeezing her hand tighting. "I know. I wish I could fix it," he says, looking helplessly sorry, and then shaking his head, "Imagine how bad you'll hurt without the drugs. You can't fly like that, either, no way." He ducks his head, lips and then cheek brushing the back of her hand before she has a crazy question and he looks up, guiltily. "Uhh," he hesitates, tellingly, "Yeah. Just for a couple minutes. That's why I wasn't here right away after. Cidra had to go let me out."

Psyche squints, looking completely baffled. She nods a bit, trying to grasp hazy threads of memory, bits and pieces of things said to her — around her — in a morpha dream. "One of the nurses must've said something," she clears her throat, wincing. "Dude, the frak? What happened?" she flashes another combination grimace/grin. "It totally wasn't my fault this time."

"Definitely not your fault," Devlin replies with a brief, crooked smile of his own. He curls his other hand around theirs and explains quietly, "Umm. So, when they were taking you away, up to sickbay here, I was trying to go after to see how you were, and somebody tried to make me go out on CAP instead. And I kinda flipped out a little bit."

More squinting, morpha dosed just right to dull her lucidity more than her pain. "Huh," she says after a moment. She smacks her dry lips softly. "Was there, like… anyone else who could have gone?"

Devlin nods. "Yeah, plenty of people. There were people all around who could've gone, some of them could've even flown their own birds. They didn't need me. If they did I would've gone," he says, "I mean. I would've hated it, not knowing… but I would've gone."

"I know you would have, baby," Psyche whispers, bringing their twined hands to her lips and kissing his knuckles. "I completely… Gods, Poppy can be such a bitch," she sighs. "I kind of thought… for some reason, since the funeral on Tauron… I thought she was getting better."

"It wasn't Poppy," Devlin replies, stroking her lip with the back of his knuckle after that kiss, "I mean… I wouldn't be surprised if she'd done the same thing, but… it wasn't her. They made her head to sickbay too, 'cause of her burns. She left Hosedown in charge, she was the most senior LT in the squad around."

If Psyche keeps squinting, her face is totally going to freeze like that. "What?" She looks completely at a loss. "Hosedown?" She takes too deep a breath and wind up coughing painfully, wheezing a string of invectives as the spasms aggravate her pain. "Frak shit mother of shit sucking frak," she rasps, finally falling back against the pillows. She is silent a few moments, evening out her breathing. "Seriously? She's… so lucky I'm in no condition… to kick her in the lady bits."

Devlin winces as she coughs and wheezes, touching her chest as she does, biting concernedly on his lip. "Freaking out's not healthy," he points out, rubbing her sternum gently and then shaking his head, "If you were we wouldn't've had a problem, would we? I… I called her some pretty awful shit," he admits. "So, yeah. That's why I was in the brig. But Toast came right down and said she'd handle it. So… I think it's okay?"

"I'm not freaking out," Psyche protests, looking pretty stubborn and fiery despite the drugs and the pain. "I'm so not freaking out. Kicking Hoser in the pudenda is a totally rational and well-reasoned… thing. Which I will have plenty of time in recovery to think about… and I have every confidence I will still want to do when they let me out. So. It's not freaky." She nods, looking about mad as a drenched kitten and half as strong.

"You are so," Devlin replies, smiling, "And you are not gonna kick her. Much as I'd love to see it. Can't have us both in trouble. You'll go straight from sickbay to the brig. Tis and Spiral'd be so proud." He smiles crookedly again and sits up, leaning over to kiss her. "Love you, Psyche," he murmurs against her lips, and then leans back a little, "You want some water or anything?"

"Maybe I'll just put depilatory in her shampoo," Psyche sulks, rubbing her nose where the O2 pokes and itches her. "Then if she takes a swing at me, I can hit her." His kiss leaves a smile on her lips, one that's more pleasure than pain. "Please," she says to the offer of water. As he goes about getting that, she adds softly, "Have I mentioned how glad I am I married you?"

Devlin smiles a little, and shakes his head, "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that. No idea who could do something like that." He grins a little, and leans his forehead against hers for a moment before drawing back to find the water. A glass is acquired from a sidetable, and lifted over, straw held to her lips. He smiles crookedly and shrugs, "Couple times. Now and then."